


Latte Art

by TittyAlways



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: BDSM, Cuckolding, M/M, Voice Kink, Voyeurism, established poker pair, safewords exist for a reason
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 10:40:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12604744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TittyAlways/pseuds/TittyAlways
Summary: “I want you to moan for me,” Tyki breathed against his hot, sweaty neck, pressed his nose behind Allen’s ear and kissed his overheated skin while he fucked into him, long and slow and sosatisfyingthat Allen wanted to sob. “I want to hear yousing,”he murmured, rocking his hips in small motions until he was pressed into Allen’s ass to the hilt, one hand pinning Allen’s to the wall, the other running indulgently over his quivering stomach, up his chest, brushing a teasing touch across the base of his throat. “And I wantHoward Linkto hear it too,” he said, quiet as a threat.





	Latte Art

**Author's Note:**

> whats up hunnies its rarepair week and you know what That means
> 
> honestly i gotta blow a big kiss to kimmy (hurryup) for helping give this life, and also giving me life, and also always being down to sexytalk me with lat whenever i started flagging lol this fic and this ship would not exist without her draws a big heart with m hands i love u

Tyki, Allen had learned early on, had little sense for volume.

That or, Allen considered when Tyki worked his hips quick and shallow and so, _so_ good against Allen’s body, he had an extremely keen sense for it, and a shamelessness to go.

A choked gasp catching in Allen’s throat, his back arching when Tyki’s pace changed to something long and hard, the force of his thrusts shaking the bed frame he held onto above Allen’s head with one hand, Allen was inclined to believe it was the second option. His sharp grin when he caught the hand Allen pressed over his mouth, when he brought it down to Allen’s dick like he wanted Allen to jerk himself off while Tyki fucked him hard enough to have the wooden headboard tap the wall, only really locked in that impression.

“Wanna hear your voice,” he said like it was a taunt, massaged his hand around Allen’s cock.

There really was no helping the keening whimper that fell from Allen’s slack lips, the way his legs curled tight around Tyki’s waist to pull him deeper, harder on the next thrust. There was no helping the shudder that shook through his body, clenching down on Tyki’s cock, moving his hand in short, sharp jerks over his own.

“C’mon, boy,” Tyki murmured, panted hot against his neck, lips and teeth brushing like gentle threats against his bared throat, “you can do better than that.”

“I,” he tried to gasp, choked on a moan, his hand still and tight around his cock when he lost himself to working against Tyki’s thrusts, the sharp sound of his hips bruising the back of Allen’s thighs, their hot, fervent breaths, the tap of the bed rocking against the wall all too overwhelming for a moment.

“I _can’t,”_ he breathed, tried not to let it come out as a sob, fingernails scraping up Tyki’s slick, dark back. “I can’t, I can’t, Link is- he’s-”

 _“Really,_ now?” Tyki growled, making good on that threat, locking his teeth around the hammering pulse beating beside Allen’s throat, his bite as harsh and unforgiving as the sneer of heated fury that twisted his lips when he pulled back to kneel between Allen’s legs. Eyes sharp and narrow, hands too tight at Allen’s waist while he fucked into him hard and hard and _harder,_ tearing a high, pleading moan from Allen’s throat. “You thinking about _Link,_ boy?” he demanded, cock beating hot and angry into Allen. “While I’m fucking you,” he sneered, leaning in so Allen could feel the heat of his words, could feel the sharp bite of his scathing tongue, “you’re thinking about your prudish little fucktoy _roommate?”_

“No,” Allen gasped, writhed, twisting under Tyki’s body, arching into his ruthless thrusts, the beat of the headboard against the wall the slightest touch louder, every nerve alight with pleasure and panic both. _“No,”_ he insisted, chanted, “no, no no, that’s- no, I- he’s sleeping,” he gasped, eyes clenched shut, cut off by his own too-loud moan when Tyki hooked his hands beneath Allen’s knees, pressed them up against his chest, folded him in half.

It burned, the stretch in his thighs, the way Tyki’s cock stretched his tight, slick ass, and Allen could _feel_ him, could feel Tyki inside him, deep and hungry for any sound he could tear out of Allen’s throat, past his propriety and shame.

“So, he’s sleeping,” Tyki mocked, taunted, that savage grin cutting sharp across his lips to match his eyes when he watched Allen grit his teeth, try to hold back the desperate moan in his chest, his desperate, begging breaths. “Not like he’s gonna hear you.”

“He could,” Allen insisted, eyes squeezed closed, head thrown back, each breath catching on that moan he was keeping trapped in his chest. “He could,” he pleaded, begged, chest tight, voice weak, breaths punched from his lungs with each of Tyki’s unforgiving thrusts, “he could, _please- Tyki!”_ Voice escaping him, pitched too loud in a panicked thrill, the way Tyki fucked him with that scathing, mocking grin, open-mouthed pants falling across Allen’s hot collarbone.

“Don’t tell me,” he taunted, eyes heated and sharp, looking like he was on the verge of laughing, of scorching humiliation across Allen’s body to match the messy red blush that had crept down his chest, across his shoulders, shame already sitting hot in the pit of his stomach, “that you _want_ him to?”

“No!” he refuted, lips twisting in a grimace. On the spot, overcome, bare and hating, just _hating_ the way his body locked tight and wanton around Tyki’s cock, how his legs hooked around his shoulders, his neck, pulling that damning devil’s grin of his closer to the pinned panic fluttering in Allen’s chest, the ashamed, aroused terror in his wide eyes. “No,” he begged, forcing his eyes shut against the way it came out as a pleading moan, “that’s-”

Tyki’s laugh was low and horrible, and had Allen twisting beneath him. Back arched, legs tightened, the unrelenting feeling of Tyki thrusting into him as bad as the rest of it. “My my, boy,” he mocked, teased, so close to Allen’s lips that he could feel the bite of his amusement. “Have you got a _crush?”_

 _“Stop it,”_ Allen demanded. Or, well. Tried to. Voice weak, strained, it came out more like a whimper.

“No,” Tyki murmured, dark and promising as temptation, “I have a _far_ better idea.”

 _“No,”_ Allen pleaded, sobbed, “no no no, _please-”_

Tyki’s hands were already around his ankles, unlocking his legs from his neck. He pulled away, pulled out, left Allen whining and empty and desperate to be fucked.

 _“Please,”_ he keened, hands fisted in his sheets, twisting at the need to _feel_ something.

He needed to have Tyki in him, filling him, he wanted Tyki to fuck him so hot and hard that his choked-off screams would have Howard Link palming himself in the next room. Awake and irate, wishing he could put his cock in Allen’s mouth to shut him up.

“Turn around,” Tyki commanded, shoved Allen’s hip until he obeyed. “On your knees, up. Hands against the wall.”

Breaths torn frantic and shuddering from Allen’s chest, he followed Tyki’s instructions. He trembled, arched his back, pressed his hips against Tyki until he could he could feel his hard, slick cock between his cheeks.

“Good boy,” Tyki murmured against his shoulder, hot hands brushing down Allen’s sides to grasp his hips, “good boy. You know what I want you to do for me, Allen?” he hummed, almost gentle if not for the indulgent amusement colouring his voice, filling out the corners of his vapid mockery of _care._

Allen groaned low and quiet as a breath when he he felt Tyki pull back, when he felt him press the blunt head of his cock into Allen’s stretched hole. Let his head fall against the paneled wood wall with the breath he forced into his lungs.

“I want you to moan for me,” Tyki breathed against his hot, sweaty neck, pressed his nose behind Allen’s ear and kissed his overheated skin while he fucked into him, long and slow and so _satisfying_ that Allen wanted to sob. “I want to hear you _sing,”_ he murmured, rocking his hips in small motions until he was pressed into Allen’s ass to the hilt, one hand pinning Allen’s to the wall, the other running indulgently over his quivering stomach, up his chest, brushing a teasing touch across the base of his throat. “And I want _Howard Link_ to hear it too,” he said, quiet as a threat.

Allen shook his head, clenched his hands into fists on the wall and tried to hold his breath against the sob sitting in his chest.

It fell out of him in an explosive gasp when Tyki pulled back, half his length slipping out of Allen’s hole before fucking back into him, slow and filthy. A quiet, pleased groan rumbled in his chest, pressed hard and warm against Allen’s back. “Think you can do that for me, darling?” Tyki murmured, hips moving in slow, slow thrusts.

A whimper fell past Allen’s lips, pained and desperate, wanting too much and getting _nothing._ Tyki wouldn’t give him anything until he got what he wanted, would he.

 _“Please,”_ he gasped, pressing back against Tyki. Caught between the desire for _more_ and the need to stay quiet. Caught between wanting to be heard and the gut-wrenching shame that came with wanting something so shameless.

“Come on, boy,” Tyki taunted, pulling back just so he could thrust hard and firm into him, a choked, desperate moan torn from Allen’s throat. “You can do better than that.”

He kept that pace, hot and indulgent. The way he leaned against Allen’s back felt amused, and something like relaxed. No effort in the way he fucked into him, over and again.

A tease, as much as his words were. Tantalising promise.

_You want more, don’t you?_

And _god,_ Allen wanted more. Wanted it so much his legs were trembling weak, trying to keep him upright. Wanted it so much he was leaning against the thin wall between his bedroom and Link’s, working his hips back to meet each of Tyki’s hot, lazy thrusts.

Wanted it enough to close his eyes and gasp, _“Yes,”_ against the cool wood, to fuck back on Tyki’s cock _knowing_ that wouldn’t be enough. _“Yes,”_ he tried again, the word catching on his unsteady voice.

Too weak, but rewarded with a sound of encouraging satisfaction buried behind his ear, with Tyki’s hand slipping down his navel to curl his fingers loose around the base of Allen’s dick.

“Don’t you want him to hear you?” Tyki murmured into his hair, against his neck, pressed his lips to Allen’s hot skin in a mockery of a kiss. Something tender, that might have been loving if not for the way Allen could feel Tyki’s smirk branded into his skin. “Don’t you want your golden boy to hear how much you like me?” he taunted, voice caught on something low and rough.

A short moan tore from his fell from his throat, ashamed and pleading, back arching against the shudders that voice rolled down his spine.

“Go on, boy,” he whispered behind Allen’s ear, fingers curling tighter around Allen’s cock while he worked his hips a touch harder, a breath faster. “Tell him how good I make you feel.”

 _“God,”_ Allen sobbed, dropped to his elbows against the wall, rocked his hips back again and again to meet Tyki’s thrusts. “God, yes, you do-” he gasped, pitched a high, keening moan when Tyki tightened his hand, rolled his thumb like torment across the slick head of Allen’s cock.

 _“Louder,”_ he breathed, his breaths coming hot and short against Allen’s neck, ground his hips hard and so, so _deep_ into Allen, where he could _feel_ Tyki, every inch of him. Hot and hard and hungry, and promising so much that he would _give,_ if only Allen would do what he’s told. Pulling out to fucking back in, hard hard hard, Allen’s breath escaping him in gasps. “Be a good boy for me,” Tyki commanded, and a moan dragged from Allen’s lips when he felt the head of Tyki’s cock slide past his prostate, and again with his next thrust.

 _“Tyki!”_ he whined, throat tight, still holding so much back. “God, Tyki, I’m- want to be good,” he cried, sucked in a ragged breath, eyes still squeezed closed. “I want to be good,” he gasped, words caught on a frantic sob, “I want to be good for you, _please- aah!”_

Tyki pushed away from Allen’s back, and Allen didn’t bother to stifle the cry that fell past his lips when Tyki’s hand curled into a fist in his hair. When he pressed Allen hard up against the wall, fucked him on his knees faster and deeper, a heated growl of, “That’s better, that’s better, _fuck!”_ tearing from his throat.

God, it felt so good. So, _so_ good, to have Tyki fucking him like that, hard and shameless. To have Tyki forcing him against the wall, dragging every unholy sound past his lips. Over and again, louder and louder until he’d lost any scope of propriety between his moans, his begging sobs, his litany of, _“Please please PLEASE, Tyki-iiii!”_

And it was _horrible._ It was absolutely humiliating, it was _terrifying._ Between Allen’s ragged, desperate breaths, between his too-loud cries, beneath Tyki’s low, hot voice and the way his hands felt on Allen’s body, his cock pounding into his ass, the feel of him and the smell of him - of _them,_ their sex, the salty musk of sweat and desire - there was still Link.

Link, in the next room over.

Link, who could wake up. Who could hear him, who could hear him moaning for Tyki’s cock like a bitch in heat, who could _see_ him, thrusting back against it. Sobbing and begging and so needy, messy, _filthy._ And, god, what if Link was just. _Disgusted?_

What if he looked at Allen with such a horrible, degrading disdain. Like he was scum. Like he was a _whore._ Like he was a filthy little slut, just doing whatever Tyki told him if it meant he got fucked. Letting Tyki take him whenever, wherever, however, as long as it meant he got Tyki biting bruises onto his skin, as long as he got Tyki’s hands on his body, his fingers around his wrists, around his cock, around his throat.

But on the other hand, _god._

It excited him.

So, _so_ fucking much. Pinned against the wall, his cheek almost bruising from how hard Tyki held him there while he fucked so self-indulgently into Allen’s ass. Moaning and begging as loud as he pleased because Tyki _told_ him to.

The thought of waking Link up to that. To the sound of Allen getting fucked so hard against the wall between them that he can’t keep quiet.

God help him, but he was harder than he’d ever been in his entire life.

And wouldn’t it be too good - wouldn’t it just be _too good -_ if Link _were_ to wake up. If he were to come in to put a stop to the racket. If he were to open the door and see Tyki fucking him like a whore, out of his mind with pleasure.

If he were to join in.

Wouldn’t it just be _something else,_ if Howard Link were to take Allen’s jaw in his hand, unlock his teeth with a punishing, bruising grip, and force his cock between Allen’s slack lips while Tyki fucked him and fucked him and _fucked_ him. The two of them filling him up, using him, hating him and how fucking shameful he was. How needy and insatiable. Lust making him ugly, making him a toy for them to use.

God, he was too loud. Too, too loud, his moans filling the room, Tyki’s low grunts so hot and hungry behind him. Sobs and choked screams tore from his chest and Tyki was fucking him so hard, so good, kept twisting his head aside, teeth scraping against Allen’s ear to whisper, to _growl._

Thrilled and horrible, his voice everything Allen hated to love, Tyki spat, “God, would you look at yourself. It’s _disgusting,”_ he panted, breath hot and heavy against Allen’s red-flushed cheek. “So shameless, filthy - and for your _roommate,_ no less,” he growled, jerking his hand in Allen’s hair, ripping his head back while he fucked him.

Teeth against his throat, Allen’s entire spine curved in a beautiful arch. Ass popped up for Tyki to fuck into how he pleased, head pulled back so he could hiss against Allen’s cheek, “You’re probably wishing it was _him_ fucking you right now,” and Allen was crying out, loud and _too much._

 _“I’m sorry,”_ he begged, sobbed, panic and terror bursting from his chest, tears prickling his eyes where he couldn’t stop them, couldn't think of  _how._ All of it - all of it was just too much and not enough not enough _not enough._ “I was,” he sobbed, chest heaving, eyes closed, lips twisted in a grimace of overwhelmed, overcome pleasure. “I was, I was, I’m _sorry!”_

 _“Fuck,”_ Tyki spat, forced him back against the wall, one hand on Allen’s hip to keep him still, to let Tyki fuck him how he _wanted_ to fuck him - to fuck him how he _deserved_ to be fucked.

Like a toy, like a comeslut, like something not even worth _looking_ at.

“Bet you were thinking of him shoving his cock in your whore mouth,” Tyki gritted, hand wrenching too hard in Allen’s hair before forcing him back against the wall. “Facefucking you ‘til you’re gagging, still begging for more. Needy little slut,” he sneered, leaning in close to bite Allen’s ear, to lock his teeth around his helix hard enough to have Allen _scream._ “One dick just isn’t enough for you,” Tyki panted close to his ear, hating him, fucking him, loving him. “There really is no line you won’t cross, is there, boy?”

And Allen kept chanting, kept moaning, yelling.

 _“Don’t,”_ he begged, crying, sobbing, _“don’t, don’t, please no, no, PLEASE-”_

Body like a ragdoll in Tyki’s hands. Something to be used, to be _fucked._ Hot and low in his ear, a savage growl, he whispered, “You know what to say if you want me to stop, boy.”

Allen bit his tongue, bit his fingers, bit his hands with a long, keening whine. He knew he knew he knew. He didn’t want to stop. He didn’t want to stop, he _never_ wanted to stop. He wanted Tyki to keep fucking him, to keep hating Allen until his throat was hoarse, until he’d lost his voice, until he couldn’t feel his body and he was all used up, worthless. He didn’t want to stop until Tyki threw him away, aching body full of filthy come, useless to anybody.

But he couldn’t, he couldn’t, he couldn’t he couldn’t he _couldn’t._ He couldn’t keep going forever, he _couldn’t._ It was so good, it was so horrible, it was so filthy and degrading and _perfect_ and he _hated_ it and he _loved_ it and he hated he hated he _hated_ to love it. He couldn’t keep going forever and he was already so close, breaths coming impossibly faster, sobs and desperate moans, pleads pitched higher.

And Tyki, Tyki, Tyki behind him, inside him, fucking into him the way he wanted to be fucked, using him the way he wanted to be used. Hating him the way he wanted to be hated. A growl tore from his throat, so disgusted that Allen _loved_ him. “You gonna say his name?” he panted, hand too tight around the back of his neck. Bruising him. Keeping him, claiming him, bruising him. “You gonna scream another man’s name when I make you come?” he gritted, spat, so full of hateful lust that Allen _loved_ him. “You gonna cry for _Howard Link_ when you’re fucking yourself on my cock like a little hand-me-down whore?”

It was horrible, what that did to Allen. Twisted pleasure shooting down his spine, Tyki’s rough, crass voice lingering harsh and breathless in his ear. Filthy, backwards bliss, Tyki’s hands and voice and heat like the devil’s, Allen came around his cock, body shuddering with the trembling scream that tore from his lips. Yelling, sobbing Tyki’s name, feeling Tyki’s cock throbbing inside him, fucking him through wave after wave of black pleasure.

He was thinking only of Tyki when he came. When he came imagining it was Howard Link fucking him, telling him to scream his name.

Because Allen knew that as much as Tyki wanted his moans to fall loud enough to wake his neighbours, Allen only ever wanted what he didn’t have.

He had Tyki. He had him fucking him to completion, thrusting too hard into Allen’s aching body even once he’d come and his head was a half-conscious fog of insubstantial thoughts.

Allen _had_ Tyki, and he wanted Link.

Wanted him so much that he’d scream for him - that he’d take Tyki’s cock and imagine it was Link’s, and come with Tyki’s name on his lips regardless.

Because he always wanted what he didn’t fucking have.

A pained moan of tortured, oversensitive pleasure ripped from Allen’s lips when Tyki pulled out of him. When he held the head of his hard cock just inside Allen’s abused hole and came in him, shallow and messy, so hot and slick that Allen found himself collapsing, completely spent and exhausted and full of burning, aching pleasure.

His limbs were weak, legs burning and arms insubstantial, his whole body a fucked-out mess.

Tyki followed him down against the pillows. One hand propping him up, the other still on Allen’s hip while he panted hard and hot against Allen’s shoulder.

God, he felt absolutely _wrecked._ Heart throbbing so hard in his chest Allen could hear it in his ears, could feel it in his lips, could feel it shuddering his ribs against the sheets beneath him that it might like to tear itself from his body and fall onto the bed alongside him.

 _“Fuck,”_ Tyki gasped, breathed, groaned. Lowered himself to his elbows over Allen, dropped his head to rest on Allen’s shoulder. Struggling to catch his breath against Allen’s skin, the next thing he managed to get out was, “You alright?”

Eyes glazed, unfocused, staring at the pillow an inch from his face, all Allen could really muster was a weak sound. Not quite a groan - almost a meep.

“Hey,” Tyki murmured, still heaving to catch his breath. His arm came to snake around Allen’s slack body, turning him onto his side so Tyki could slump down behind him and curl his body around Allen's like an embrace. “You alright? Hey,” he repeated, mumbled behind Allen’s ear. Voice still low, still rough, the sharp undercut of anger gone.

“ ’m,” Allen forced himself to say, found he was not only too exhausted to finish the sentence, but to even find a word with which to finish it.

Tyki kissed against his neck, carefully brushed his hair away from his face with gentle fingers. “Want me to clean you up?” he offered, something like gentle beyond Allen’s too-narrow scope of conscious awareness.

He tried his best to curl in against Tyki, to shake his head, managed to mutter something like, “Stay,” because all he needed right then - all he wanted was what he had.

All he wanted was Tyki holding him. Loving him. Kissing him.

“You’re good,” he was whispering against Allen’s overheated skin, “you’re so good, you’re such a good boy. You’re perfect, princess. You did everything I asked, you’re perfect. You’re amazing, you’re so good. So good.”

Allen let his eyes close, let what breath he had managed to catch fall out of him in a silent sigh.

He must have fallen asleep, drifted for a moment. He woke to a warm wet cloth wiping his stomach, between his legs, Tyki cleaning him up. Touch gentle like it never was when Allen was awake, when he was conscious. When he had enough presence to realise this kind of touch - this kind of care - might as well have been Tyki saying _I love you_ with his words.

“You awake?” Tyki murmured when Allen twisted onto his back, an arm pressed over his eyes at the too-bright light of the dimmed bedside lamp.

“Mmmno,” he slurred, sighed and curled into the dip of Tyki laying down beside him.

“You can go back to sleep, princess,” he reassured, curling his arms around Allen’s shoulders, rolling so Allen could lay against his shoulder, hand curled over Tyki's bare chest. Fingers resting weak atop the beat of Tyki's heart.

“Mmh,” Allen mumbled, too comfortable to tell him to get the light. “Gonna stay th' night?” he managed to get out before a long yawn overtook him.

Tyki’s unwilling sigh ruffled Allen’s hair and he admitted reluctantly, voice a gentle rumble under Allen’s ear, under his hand, “I have work in a couple of hours.”

Allen found the strength to wrinkle his nose before tucking his face more snugly against Tyki’s shoulder, wriggling up a little to bury himself in the crook of Tyki’s neck. “The fuck starts work at three in the morning?” he muttered, sliding his leg over Tyki’s to tangle their bodies closer.

“Besides managers of twenty-four hour fine dining bars,” Tyki teased, twisting to press a kiss to Allen's head, “I can think of a few professions.”

Allen snorted a weary laugh and argued, no heat to his voice, “Stripping for cash is not a profession, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

Against his hair, Tyki whispered, “Tell that to your next paycheck.”

Allen hated that that actually forced a laugh out of him, giggles wrenching from his exhausted body. _“God,”_ he groaned, partly amused, mostly pained, “get out of my _bed,”_ he said, shoving at Tyki with weak hands that just slipped across his chest, not even bothering to lift his head from Tyki’s shaking shoulder. “Go shower or something, you gross old man.”

Tyki’s laugh rumbled under his ear, and Allen melted into his relieved exhaustion when Tyki only curled his arm around his shoulders to pull him closer, hand brushing soothing motions up and down Allen’s spine. “I have a minute or ten to waste,” he hummed, indulgent and satisfied. So full of affection in these moments that Allen would never have to wonder if Tyki loved him.

He harrumphed, draped his arm across Tyki’s chest, and let out a heady, satisfied breath. “ ‘m going to sleep,” he mumbled, staunch.

“You go to sleep, boy,” Tyki indulged him, his smile there even in his voice. “I’ll be quiet when I head out,” he promised with another kiss to the top of Allen’s head.

“Mmhh,” he sighed, breaths already coming deep and lax. “Love you, Mikk,” he hummed, already on the edge of sleep.

“You too, princess.”

Allen woke again maybe half an hour later to Tyki slipping out from under him. Too given to sleep to open his eyes, Allen’s slurred mumbles sounded nothing like words, and he really had no choice in the matter when Tyki lifted him to lay properly against the pillows rather than curled sideways across the mattress.

Tyki pulled the sheets over him, kissed his slack lips and the gnarled scar over his eye, and turned off the bedside lamp.

He might have flickered awake some time later to the sound of the front door clicking closed behind him, but he really couldn’t even remember being conscious again until Link’s sharp knuckles were rapping against his door, his crisp call of, “There’s crepes,” somehow reminding Allen of fresh sheets and neatly-folded linen.

He grumbled some kind of garbled response, hoped it was loud enough for Link to interpret as, “Thank you so fucking much I’ll be there as soon as I am physically able,” and forced one leg out from under the sheets, foot landing heavily on the floor, before he had to stop for breath.

When he actually made it out of bed, he stumbled all the way to fall against his bedroom door before blinking blearily and realising he had absolutely zero clothes on.

And it was looking down at his naked stomach, at the brown and yellow bruises on his hips, that he was shot with the cold-water realisation that _holy fuck that happened_ **_that_ ** _happened that_ **_happened_ ** _holy_ **_fuck._ **

Reaching for some trackpants laying half-inside-out on the floor almost had him falling to his knees, but he managed to steer his stumbling descent to land back on his bed. Almost exactly where he’d started, only with trackpants in his frail grip. It took an absurdly exhausting amount of effort to get that one leg back in the right way, and then even more to actually put them on.

Sitting up was, by comparison, much easier.

Allen looked at the door.

Did he even really _want_ to go out there?

 _“Walker!”_ Link demanded from the kitchen, a frown laced into his voice. “Are you awake yet?”

“I’m coming!” he called back thoughtlessly, fell to flop back onto the bed for a weary moment and just. Stare blankly at the ceiling. “God,” he breathed to himself, and then crumpled his whole body into a grimace when he remembered with brutal clarity just what had happened. “Oh my _goddddddd,”_ he groaned, pained, and rolled onto his side to pull the closest pillow to his chest and just crush it in deathgrip arms.

Pillow pressed tight against his face, he barked, _“Aaargh!”_ before he threw it aside, forced himself to stand before panic could make him miss the most delicious tradition he and Link had, and took scream-powered strides to the door.

“Oh, good,” Link remarked when Allen entered the kitchen, his voice cut and dried, shooting Allen that unimpressed look of his. “You’re alive.”

“Hardly,” Allen grumbled, bone-deep exhaustion quickly eating up that short burst of energy he’d forced into his body. “Feel like I got hatefucked by Death,” he groaned, falling into a seat at the table.

“Certainly _sounded_ like it,” Link muttered under his breath.

Allen pressed his lips together and sucked them over his over his teeth for a long second, neither of them meeting each other’s eyes. He popped his lips. “Okay!” he announced, reaching for the plate of thin pancakes Link had set on the table. “Crepes! Cool!”

“Walker,” oh god oh god Allen could _not_ be empty handed for this, “if there’s… anything. You need to tell me.”

“Hm?” Allen forced through his tight throat, face forced nonchalant pleasantry, piling fried banana and honey and lemon butter onto the crepe in front of him as quickly as he could, folding it up around the filling and spearing the breakfast enchilada with his fork before cutting into it with motions of thinly-veiled frantic horror.

“About,” Link was saying, as awkward as Allen felt and just as determined to have this conversation as Allen was determined to avoid it, “Tyki.”

Allen’s eyes flickered to Link without his consent, already shovelling a forkful of crepe into his mouth.

“If he’s ever, um. _Forcing_ you, that is.” Link looked up right then, caught Allen’s wide eyes with something stern and concerned and more than a little uncomfortable. “Let me know,” he said, and Allen was quite sure his heart, along with his brain and lungs, had completely failed him. Stopped beating, stopped breathing, stopped being capable of fucking _cohesive thought._

Remembering motor control, at least, Allen managed to open his mouth around the crepe and ask, blank with half-panicked surprise, “What.”

“It’s, uh,” Link stiffened, glanced around as though he was looking for an exit, hands white-knuckled around the edge of the counter behind him. “It’s- it’s none of my _business,_ obviously, but last night you were- and, well. You were rather. _Reprehendant,_ I. I’m sorry for. _Hearing_ that, it was just. Very. _Loud.”_

Allen really couldn’t quite figure out if his lungs were working or not. He was feeling pretty lightheaded. Blank-faced, unable to tear his eyes from Link, leaning against the counter looking every bit as panicked and ashamed as Allen felt. But also - and this was what _really_ got him - forcing himself to meet Allen’s eyes with this steel-clad look of resolute concern.

Despite how horribly embarrassing it might be for Link, he was actually. Looking out for Allen, making sure Tyki wasn’t- _god,_ how loud had Allen been screaming _no_ last night? How many times had he begged Tyki to _stop?_ God oh god that must look - and sound, that must sound. Terrible. That… that painted everything in a _really_ bad light, oh god.

And through all that Allen was still just staring at the way Link was looking at him, and most of the millions of barely-cohesive thoughts that were shooting through his mind were along the lines of _I want him to look at me with that aggressive concern while he fucks me after beating my ass with a wooden spoon._

 _“Walker,”_ Link demanded, straightening, that concern thoroughly overtaking his embarrassment with a small frown pinched between his brows, “are you _fine?”_

That, at least, broke Allen out of his sleep-deprived, well-fucked, still-horny daze. And, well. They couldn’t _both_ be sitting here with their stomachs cold-curdled by embarrassment. If that were to be the case, no-one would be winning, and that was just categorically a shitty situation. So Allen swallowed his shame down with his crepe and shed that cloying, creeping terror that had been prickling under his skin for a while now.

That had been Tyki’s _point,_ hadn’t it?

That Allen should be loud, because he had nothing to be ashamed about.

Link, however...

Poor Link, embarrassed at hearing Allen’s screams. Having to see those bruises around Allen’s neck, his wrists, his waist - everywhere Tyki had pinned him and held him. Poor Link would have to see those marks, and remember what Allen sounded like when Tyki was making them.

Allen was allowed to be shameless.

So he shot Link a look from the corner of his eye, lips curled into a smile something sly and satisfied. _“Really,_ Link,” he mocked, voice laced with Tyki’s sultry tease. “You think _Tyki Mikk_ could force himself on me?”

And Link, well. If the blush dusting his cheeks didn’t read embarrassment, then the small delicate cough he gave, eyes pointedly averted, certainly did. He was obviously relieved, obviously regretted bringing it up, and was very, _very_ obviously uncomfortable. Allen was _thrilled._

He loved it, really. The feeling that came with holding the winning hand.

With affected intrigue, insincere nonchalance, Allen folded his arm across the table, propped his chin in his hand and asked, pinning Link with that sly look, “How long were you listening in?”

His eyes immediately went wide with beautiful, panicked affront. “I wasn’t _listening in,_ thank you,” he insisted, too quick, too stiff. “You were just -- very-” He bit that off, tried to swallow his tongue, looking as though he might like to turn on his heel and leave this suddenly quite ridiculous conversation behind. “Look,” he sighed, short and crisp, pinching the bridge of his nose, “can you just. Be more mindful?”

“It’s Saturday,” Allen commented, small smile unaffected, and didn’t make any remark on Link’s blush. Yet.

“Yes,” he allowed, clipped, shooting Allen a stern look, “but I don’t want. _That._ Interrupting my sleep when I have work in the morning.”

“My my, Link,” Allen taunted, and didn’t stop to think how that was a taunt straight from Tyki’s mouth, “are you _embarrassed?”_

Angry in that embarrassment, cheeks flushed red, Link snapped with stiff shoulders and a short glare, “For the both of us, I see.”

Allen laughed and reached for the coffee Link had prepared him, pinned him with teasing eyes over the rim of the cup and refuted, “No, it’s cute, really.”

In a huff, Link made good on that bleeding urge to turn on his heel, seething, “You’ve been spending _far_ too much time with that homeless degenerate of yours.”

Laughing freely, Allen called after him, “He’s got his own apartment, you know.”

“So why don’t the two of you dally around _there,_ then?” Link fumed, and the sharp snap of his door closing worked an effective punctuation to his stern frustration.

Allen snorted a laugh, leaned back in his chair and drank his coffee. White with three sugars - just how he liked it.

Link sure was something else.


End file.
